


Quiet Moments in the Dark

by gatheringblues



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drarry, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Marauders' Era, Mentor Remus Lupin, Mild S&M, Multi, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Survivor Guilt, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 09:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15905130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatheringblues/pseuds/gatheringblues
Summary: Remus is surprised to find that Draco Malfoy reminds him of Sirius, but as he starts mentoring the boy, he finds more and more similarities. The parallels take him back into his memories of fifth year before Sirius betrayed the Marauders and broke his heart, but Remus hopes he can use the lessons he's learned from his painful mistakes to help Draco escape the dark.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are descriptions of physical and emotional child abuse in this fic. The abuses are described by the survivors, and not depicted in the narrative.

Remus was carrying his stack of books to library checkout counter when he did a double take. For a moment he thought he'd seen Sirius sitting on the window seat looking out at the snowy Hogwarts grounds, but that was impossible. That night was eighteen years ago, and Sirius was in Azkaban.

His second glance told him it was Draco Malfoy, which surprised him. He’d never thought Malfoy looked anything like his friend. Ex-friend. He studied his student. What was it about him that reminded him of Sirius? Not the blond hair or pale colouring, but the way they sat — pureblood training in their posture, casual elegance in every line, but also coiled tension. Malfoy gripped his wand so tightly Remus was surprised it hadn’t snapped. Sirius did that when he was thinking about his family.

Remus wondered what was bothering Malfoy and sighed in resignation. Malfoy had only even been rude to him and his fellow classmates during Defence Against the Dark Arts, but Remus was still his teacher and he cared. He wished he and the Marauders had realized what was going on for Sirius at home earlier, or that a teacher had seen the signs. No one dared to believe that abuse happened in pureblood families, but it did. Money and status didn’t automatically make for kind and doting parents. Especially when it came to the Blacks.

Remus placed his stack of books on a table and walked over to the window. He stood behind Malfoy for a moment, watching the snow fall on the grounds. The night was almost identical to the one eighteen years ago, in his fifth year, with the snow gently falling as he revised for midterms and James and Peter talked about their holiday plans.

“What are you going to do for the hols, Pads?” James had asked, chucking a wadded up piece of parchment at him when he hadn’t answered. Remus had glanced at his friend through the corners of his eyes while he pretended to stare at his textbook, watching how the wave of Sirius’s hair brushed passed his shoulders and the way his eyes sparked back to life as he returned to them from his thoughts.

“Are you looking forward to the holidays, Mr. Malfoy?” Remus asked.

Malfoy started and turned to him. He moved the same as Sirius, but the sneer on his face was nothing like the kindness in Sirius’s eyes, and his colouring and facial features were all Malfoy and showed no trace of the Black side of his family. “It’s none of your business,” Malfoy said.

Remus laughed, unperturbed by the snap of Malfoy’s words. “I was expecting a comeback with a little more bite.”Malfoy just glared at him. “I need some help preparing for class next week. Come on,” Remus said. It wasn’t strictly true, but an extra pair of hands wouldn’t hurt, and he wanted to see if he could get his student to open up in a less public environment. To his surprise, Malfoy stood and picked up his shoulder bag without a fuss.

Remus abandoned his stack of books. He could pick them up later and he didn’t dare push his luck by asking Malfoy to wait while he checked them out.

“So, can I get extra credit for this?” Malfoy asked on the walk to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classrooms.

“Trying to beat Granger and Potter to the top of the class?” Remus asked.

“No,” Malfoy said. It was a perfect lie — relaxed body, straight face — except for the most minuscule twitch in his left shoulder. Padfoot had the same tell. Remus tried to hide his smile. Maybe there was more Black in Draco Malfoy than he first thought.

“I can’t give you extra credit, but you’ll get extra practice with the creatures and spells before anyone else.”Malfoy nodded once, succinctly, while Remus unlocked the door to the Defence Against the Dark Arts prep room. Inside was filled with tanks and trunks. There was a rattling from the wardrobe that held the Bogart and the Grindelow tank glowed green. Malfoy looked around in astonishment,. Remus wondered if Draco recognized any of the creatures in the room. They were obscure and rare Dark creatures that often hid from wizards.

“You keep all of these here?” Malfoy asked.

“No, Hagrid takes care of them most of the time. He’s got more space, but these are the ones that I’m planning on using in my upcoming lessons.”

“What are we doing next?” Malfoy asked.

“Red Caps,” said Remus, pointing to a mound of dirt on a wooden rolling cart.

“That doesn’t look like a Red Cap,” Malfoy said.

“It’s the Red Cap’s enclosure. It’s bigger on the inside. You’ve seen one before?” Remus asked, surprised again. Red Caps weren’t uncommon, but he didn’t picture the Malfoys enjoying camping trips or going sightseeing to visit the battlegrounds of ancient castles.

“We have them at the Manor,” Draco said as if this was normal.

Remus reeled and hid it. There were multiple Red Caps on the grounds of Malfoy Manor? Red Caps were solitary and territorial, for there to be more than one in a small area … Remus shied away from imagining the amount of violence.

“Have you ever had an encounter with one?” Remus asked, keeping his voice neutral.

“Once, when I was little. My Father cast a spell and got it off me. I don’t remember what. I didn’t have my wand yet.”

“They are surprisingly fast,” Remus prompted, Malfoy just hummed noncommittally. “Protego and Stupify are usually effective, but it’s better if you can avoid them altogether. My plan is to show the Red Cap to you and your classmates, discuss and practise spells, and then take a field trip to the Forbidden Forest and see if we can spot any warrens.”

“What do you need me for?” Draco asked.

“Help me roll the cart into the classroom without jostling it, and then the rest of these creatures need to be fed, and then we can work on your wand work.”“My wand work is excellent,” Draco mumbled, moving to the other side of the cart.

“Your wand work is very good,” Remus said. Everything Malfoy did tonight was reminding him of his childhood friend, even the bravado over the perceived insult. “Your stance is sometimes a little off, meaning your aim is less accurate. I would be happy to help.”

Draco nodded and stared at his hands as they rolled the cart and its artificial hill into the adjoining classroom.

“Why are you doing this?” Draco asked.

“Red Caps?” Remus asked. Draco raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “It’s useful to have an extra pair of hands.”“But you don’t really need the help,” Draco filled in.

“Not really,” Remus admitted.

“Are you trying to curry favour with my father? He has significant pull at the Ministry.”

“I am not using you to get to your father,” Remus reassured him with a silent, sad sigh. Malfoy blinked at him. “You are my student. It is my job to help you be your best.”

“At seven p.m. on a Saturday night” Draco snorted. “Don’t you have a life?”

“I live at Hogwarts, and being a teacher doesn’t end when my classes are over for the day.” Remus wouldn’t tell him the real reason was that Draco looked lonely and scared. Sirius hadn’t wanted to know when others saw his weaknesses, he doubted Malfoy would either.

“I’m one of your best students, go pity someone else.” The scorn in Draco’s voice made it sound like he was boasting, but Remus heard the request for validation beneath the words.

“That you are. And one of the hardest-working, though you try to make it look effortless."“What, like its hard?” Draco scoffed.

“It is hard, but you work at it enough so that no one knows you’re putting in the effort. Would you like to see my library?” Remus said, switching the topic to more comfortable ground.

“Whatever,” Malfoy said, but his eyes flicked over to the study door.

I’ve got a few books the school library doesn’t have,” Remus said, walking over to open the door and inviting Malfoy inside.

Malfoy glided with the kind of graceful nonchalance you could only achieve from a lifetime of Pureblood training. Remus pointed at his overflowing bookshelf and Malfoy’s saunter became a constrained bounce.

“It’s always nice to share this with a fellow bookworm,” Remus said, his eyes sweeping over the familiar titles. What would Malfoy be interested in? His gaze fell on an older title. Stars in a Dark Sky: A Philosophical Examination of Benevolent Applications of the Dark Arts. It had taken him a while to find, but the search had been worth it. The book hadn’t been popular, so there had only been one small run, but it was the only book Remus knew of that found positive uses for the Dark Arts. He hesitated—was it an unsubtle reading recommendation? Absolutely, but he pulled it off the shelf and handed it to Malfoy. “I think you’ll find this one interesting,” he said.

Malfoy looked at the title and snorted but made no comment. “You have fiction books here too,” Malfoy noticed and put the philosophy book in his bag.

“I keep all of my books together. It’s easier,” Remus said. It was much easier to find and pack all of his books every time he had to move if they were all in one place.

“You call this a library and this is all you have?” Malfoy asked, staring incredulously at the bookshelf.

“These are the books I care to own,” Remus said, looking proudly at his collection. He probably had close to a hundred books, which was significantly too many when constantly on the move and living pay cheque to pay cheque. Books were expensive and heavy, but he wasn’t going to explain his financial situation to a student, especially one as wealthy as Malfoy.

“I thought you were a bookworm,” Malfoy sneered.

“I get most of my reading material from the library. I’m sure you’ve heard of the concept, smart kid like you,” Remus teased without malice. Malfoy’s pale skin flushed anyways, but Remus couldn’t tell if it was in anger or embarrassment. On impulse, he grabbed another book from the shelf. “I think you’ll like this one too,” he said.

Draco looked at the cover where a group of plaid-clad, blue-skinned pixies waved swords at the reader.

“Is this a kid’s book?” Malfoy asked.

“It’s young adult. Have you read any books by Terry Pratchett before?” Remus asked though he would be shocked if Malfoy had. Draco shook his head. “This one, Wee Free Men, is the first book in a set I really enjoy. Read it, and let me know what you think.”“You’re giving me more homework?” Malfoy asked.

Remus put his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey! Nothing like that. Something fun to read when you have the time, a unique perspective on the Dark Arts, and an offer to talk.” He clapped Malfoy’s shoulder. “My door’s always open.”

Malfoy’s eyes flickered with fear as Remus’s hand landed on his shoulder, though his face didn’t shift from his resting expression of bland disinterest. Remus winced and took his hand away, quickly, making a note that Malfoy didn’t like to be touched. For a second he worried that moment had ruined any trust he’d built with his student that night, but Malfoy was studying him with curiosity. “I mean it, Mr. Malfoy. Anytime you want to talk to me about class, or books, or anything else, I’ll be here.”

Draco was already tucking the books into his book bag. “Thanks for the books,” he said.

“What do you know about Red Caps?” Remus asked.

“They look like house elves, but green, and they wear the red hats. And they’re mean.”“They are very protective of the homes,” Remus corrected him without telling him he was wrong.

“Do they actually dip their hats in blood?” Draco asked.

“That’s the story, but it’s not actually true. It is true that they live in locations where blood has been spilled and they will attack anyone who trespasses in their homes.

“That’s why it’s best to be able to identify their warrens. We know where all of them are on the Manor. I haven’t run into one since—that day.”

“So you know what the warrens look like?” Remus asked.

“Like rabbit holes, but more oblong, and they often have brambles and mountain bearberry growing at the entrance.”“Excellent. How would you find one in winter?”Draco pulled up short. “I don’t know.”“Good! Think on it for a few days until our next class. Now let’s see your shield charm.”

Draco slid confidently into a defensive casting stance, wand grasped like a conductor’s baton, his grey eyes fixed on Remus’s face.

“Very good grip on your wand. Your balance is too much on your front foot though. Shift so you have equal weight on both feet, and unlock your back knee. You need to be able to move quickly, and locked legs will hinder you.” Draco shifted to correct his stance.

“Good, now show me the wand motion.” Malfoy drew a large circle in front of him.

“And your pronunciation,” prompted Remus.

“Protego,” Malfoy said, his voice ringing clear in the study.

“Very good. Now cast the spell and hold it, if you can.”

“Protego,” Draco said, also drawing the circle with his wand. While the spell was invisible Remus felt a current of air brush his face as the air shifted and Malfoy’s scent dimmed slightly, to Remus’s relief. Thirteen-year-olds were still learning to groom themselves, and Malfoy was one of the ones who used too much deodorant.

“Hold it for as long as you can,” Remus instructed. He conjured a handful of bean bags and tossed them at different parts of the invisible shield, checking for gaps. Most bean bags struck the invisible shield and fell to the floor, but Malfoy had neglected to cover his feet. Remus got him in the shin.

“A Red Cap would definitely be able to get under there,” Remus observed and Malfoy flushed.

“You do it then, and let me toss bean bags at you,” he spat.

“I suppose that’s only fair,” Remus said with a smile. He summoned the beans bags into a pile at Draco’s feet and wordlessly cast Protego.

“Wait, you’re actually going to let me throw things at you?” Malfoy asked, shocked.

“Why not?” Seems like a good way to learn,” Remus said.

Draco picked up one of the bags and hefted it, hesitating. “This is very different from my sessions with Professor Snape.

“I should hope so,” Remus muttered. He made an effort to be a different type of teacher than Snivellus. A better, more fun teacher, and of course Snape was giving extra Potions help to his godson, while Harry was the one who actually could use the assistance. Remus took a breath and set his personal grudge and loyalties aside. It wasn’t Malfoy’s fault that Snape treated Harry terribly or showed clear favouritism. And he was giving extra time to Malfoy too, though the Slytherin was already third in his class and academically didn’t need one-on-one tutoring.

Malfoy tossed a bean bag at Remus’s shield where it harmlessly dropped to the ground. Draco grinned and threw all of the bags in rapid succession at different parts of the shield. Not one got through.

“Try it again,” Remus said. Draco gathered up all of the bean bags. “I’m going to alter the spell for each bean bag this time, so throw them a little slower, and watch what I do with my wand.”

Draco tossed the bean bags at him with a measured pace, and Remus flicked his wand to make his shield bigger, smaller, tilted at different angles, and then small and targeted, recasting the spell rapidly to block each bean bag that attacked.

“With practice, you can get that kind of control,” Remus said, ending the spell.

“And nonverbal?” Draco asked, his face as eager as a puppy.

“Let’s start with the incantation and practise holding it. Once you can hold it for a minute without effort, we’ll work on fine-tuning your control.”“So tomorrow, then,” Draco asked, all swagger and bluster, just like Sirius.

“There’s no need to rush. Take your time. I’d rather you do it well.” There was a warm feeling in Remus’s chest and he had to stop himself from reaching out and patting the boy on the back. All at once his past caught up with him and he missed Sirius terribly, or the Sirius he thought he knew before the betrayal. His face changed, clouds of misery obscuring his vision. Twelve years and he still wasn’t over the loss. He knew Draco saw the change when the boy made a very small retreat of a single backwards step away from his professor.

He forced himself to smile and mean it. Maybe he couldn’t save his friend from the seduction of You-Know-Who; or James, Lily, and Harry from the fallout; but maybe he could help this child. Draco was barely a teenager and looked older because of the incredible amount of control he wielded over his face, voice, and body language. The poor child. Remus would help in whatever way he could.

“Would you help me feed the rest of the creatures?” Remus asked. He framed it as an entreaty, something that Malfoy could easily decline without feeling pressured, or accept without feeling coerced. How many times had he carefully worded offerings to Sirius in just this way?

“It’s getting late,” Draco said. He gave Remus a polite smile that transported the professor to a stuffy dinner party. “Thank you for the books. I look forward to reading them” His voice was pitch perfect, polite and differential.

“Of course, you should be getting back to your friends. Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Malfoy,” Remus said because it was the ‘correct’ thing to say and correctness would probably put Draco at ease. Despite this, he tried to put warmth and sincerity into the platitudes. He hoped Draco would come back.

“Thank you, Professor,” Draco said, bowing his head respectfully and leaving the study. It was perhaps the politest behaviour Remus had ever seen from the teen. He watched Draco walk from the study and listened to his footsteps across the stone floor of the classroom until the wooden door swung open and shut.

* * *

“What are you going to do for the hols, Pads?” James asked.

Sirius smiled at James, his warm, wide, crooked smile. The one that made Remus’s stomach flutter.

“I’ll be counting my lumps of coal,” Sirius had said.

“Have you really been that naughty?” James teased.

“You know I have,” Sirius said with a wink. Remus’s hands burned and he gripped his textbook tightly. It shouldn’t bother him when James and Sirius flirted. He knew that. He wished it to be true. “Good old Saint Nick has been bringing me coal for Christmas since I got sorted in with you lot,” Sirius said.

“Why don’t you spend the holidays with me?” Remus blurted. “And my folks.”

“Why do you get him all to yourself? What if I want a piece?” James said, getting up and wrapping himself around Sirius’s arm.

“Boys, boys, there’s plenty of me to go around,” Sirius said, kissing James on the cheek. “There’s no reason you can’t both have me.” He winked at Remus, and Remus felt his neck and ears flush with the intensity of his blush.

“Shhh, you’re going to get us kicked out of the library,” Remus admonished him because it was easier to focus on rules than his body’s reaction to Sirius.

“See, this is why my stocking is full of coal,” Sirius said, but he disentangled himself from James and came to sit beside Remus. “Alright, wise one, teach me that which I need to know for these god-awful exams.”

Later that night as they lay in the dark of their dorm room and Remus was trying to fall asleep he heard Sirius whisper through the dark. “Hey, Moony, do you think your folks would actually let me come spend the hols with you?”

“I’m sure they’d love to have you,” Remus said. Sirius responded with heavy silence. “I will send them an owl and ask.”“Thanks, Moony,” Sirius said, and it was easy to hear the relief in his friend’s voice through the veil of the dark when Padfoot wasn’t able to use the mask of his face.


	2. Chapter 2

“You can identify a Red Cap’s warren in the winter by a cluster of human teeth in a bed of yew leaves,” Malfoy said, his voice confident as he addressed his classmates.

“Very good, Mr. Malfoy,” Remus said, smiling at him indulgently. He’d done the research.

“And how far away should you stay from a Red Cap’s warren? Yes, Ms. Granger.”

“You should stay at a minimum three meters away from the entrance to the warren, though it is preferable to keep five meters distant when possible,” Hermione said.

“Very good, Ms. Granger. Now as I previously mentioned, your basic defence and attack spells will work against a Red Cap. For the remainder of the week, we will be practising these spells before we go into the Forest to search for warrens.”

“We’re actually going to go into the Forest?” Neville asked.

“Just around the edge. I have already identified one warren, and nothing is as useful to you as practical experience. I will be with you the whole time, and I will ensure you are adequately prepared,” Remus assured Neville and the other students who were looking apprehensive.

“Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, may I use you two for a demonstration of today’s exercise?”

Both Harry and Draco looked at him in shock. For a moment Draco looked like he might refuse before Harry stomped up to the front of the room. Then the Slytherin collected himself and regally strolled up to face Harry.

Remus had considered the wisdom of pairing the two against each other for a long time, but had come to realize it was worth the risk. He knew Draco had been practising his shield charm and would appreciate the chance to look good in front of his classmates. He trusted Harry to not be aggressive, and they were only armed with bean bags. Harry and Draco were Seekers with the best hand-eye coordination in their year. If for some reason Draco’s shield failed, he knew Draco would be able to catch the beanbag. Additionally, their feud was well-known and would capture the attention of the class, while an opportunity for a harmless, mock confrontation might allow the two to let off a little steam and reduce tension.

Remus handed Harry the stack of bean bags and saw Draco relax, realizing what was expected of him. “Mr. Malfoy, cast Protego. Mr. Potter will use the bean bags to test the strength and shape of your shield. Mr. Potter, your goal is not to hit your classmate, but rather to ensure that his shield is fully covering him. Understand?”

Harry nodded. “Then, when you’re ready, Mr. Malfoy,” Remus said.

Draco slid easily into the protective stance. His balance was much better compared to a few days ago.

Harry lobbed the bean bags at Malfoy. Each one hit the invisible barrier and dropped to the floor. He’d remembered to cover his feet. When Harry was out of bean bags Remus said, “Very good!. Now, class, I want you to notice Mr. Malfoy’s stance. His weight is equally balanced on both feet, his knees are bent and he’s grounded. From this position, he can cast a defensive spell, switch to attacking, or move quickly away. This is the ideal casting position for Protego.”

Remus looked out over his class. They were all paying attention. “Thank you, boys. Five points each for Gryffindor and Slytherin. Everyone, find a partner. Choose someone that you’re comfortable working with and spread out. One person in each pair come to me to get bean bags. There are twenty minutes left of class to practice.”

He wasn’t surprised when Draco and Harry separated, or when the Slytherins and Gryffindors picked partners of the same house. Comfort was important for now. In later lessons, he would have them rotate partners and mix the houses. It was useless to be able to cast a spell if you couldn’t cast it under pressure in order to protect yourself from an enemy. Remus wandered through the pairs of students, dodging bean bags and correcting stances and wand grips as necessary. They were all progressing well.

Near the end of class, Remus heard Neville say “Accio bean bags,” and winced as all the bean bags in the classroom threw themselves at the boy.

Should he cast Protego to shield the boy from his own mistake? Or let him learn via the consequence of his actions? In the fraction of a pause where he deliberated, he saw a flash of movement and a shout of “Protego” from both ends of the room. Harry and Draco had cast the spell at the same moment, surrounding Neville in a bubble of protection as the bean bags bounced off the shield.

Neville looked stunned for a moment, then wiped his hands on his robes sheepishly. “Thanks, Harry,” he said.

“No problem, mate,” Harry said as Draco slid seamlessly into a neutral stance, dropping his wand arm to his side.

“So, what have we learned?” Remus asked Neville, a smile in his eyes.

“Pay attention to my surroundings before casting?” Neville guessed.

“Precisely,” said Remus, glancing at the clock. There was one minute left before the period ended, which was not enough time to redistribute the bean bags. “Let’s call it there for the day. Class dismissed.”

Draco lingered as the other students filtered into the hall, glaring at Crabbe and Goyle when they tried to wait for him until they gave up and left.

“You practised,” Remus said, beaming at Malfoy.

“A little,” Malfoy said, shrugging one shoulder and feigning nonchalance.

“Your stance is much better. It allowed you to be quick on your feet,” Remus said, subtly letting Malfoy know he’d seen him protect Neville.

Malfoy flushed and looked away. “I finished the book you lent me,” he said, producing The Wee Free Men from his book bag.

“That was fast. What did you think of it?” Remus asked.

“It was alright,” Malfoy said with a shrug. He paused, “Are there really Nac Mac Feegle?” He asked.

“No, Pratchett made them up, unfortunately, though I imagine life around the castle would be a lot more interesting if we had a gang of little blue men getting in the way of the house elves and antagonizing Peeves. Would you like the next one in the series?”

Malfoy nodded and fiddled with the straps of his book bag.

“I could use assistance with taking care of the creatures after school today if you happen to be available,” Remus offered.

“I have Quidditch practice,” Malfoy said. His voice was even, but Remus thought he detected a hint of regret. Maybe he’d imagined it.

“Perhaps afterwards, then? There’s always more to do.”Malfoy nodded and left the classroom abruptly, his blonde hair staying perfectly in place as he swept through the door.

Remus shook his head. In some ways, Sirius and Draco were so similar, but Draco was trying so hard to live up to his family’s expectations: stiff and unemotional, perfectly presentable with an air of superiority. Sirius had tried to escape those expectations from his first day of freedom at Hogwarts with his wild hair and loud voice, the rough-and-tumble attitude he’d worked so hard to curate, but the Black lineage drove both of them just as hard.

 

After class he marked papers, waiting for Malfoy to arrive before caring for the magical creatures. It was backward from his usual routine, but the creatures could wait a few hours. He was sitting at his desk, marking papers with the next Pratchett book beside him waiting for Draco when he heard a knock on his study door. “Come in,” he called.

Malfoy stepped through the threshold, his cheeks rosy from the fresh air and still not a hair out of place.

“How was practice?” Remus asked. Malfoy looked startled for a second, then schooled his features back to neutral impassivity.

“It was alright. We’re working on some new plays. We’re going to beat Ravenclaw in our next game.”“Is that so?” Remus said with a fond smile. “I have A Hat Full of Sky for you. Have you eaten?”

“Not since dinner,” Malfoy said, reaching for the book.

“Here’s a banana and some chocolate. It’s good to eat after you exercise,” Remus said, offering the food to his student. Malfoy took the food silently, searching the professor’s face for a long time before he peeled the banana and took a dainty bite.

“What are we doing tonight?” Malfoy asked.

“I’ll show you how to feed all of the creatures I have at the moment. That’s likely all we’ll have time for today. I want to leave you some free time before curfew.”

“I don’t mind,” Malfoy said.

“You don’t have homework to do? You’re welcome to stay but I hope you don’t feel obligated.”

“This is really good chocolate,” Malfoy said by way of answer.

“I admit it is my weakness,” Remus said, leaning over and stage whispering as if he were revealing a big secret. Malfoy rolled his eyes and Remus grinned. He enjoyed teaching teenagers because it was so easy to prompt fond embarrassment.

“Come on. I’ll show you what to do,” Remus said, leading them across the empty classroom and unlocking the door to his prep room. “I keep each creature’s food by its enclosure and I mentally track their feeding schedule. Would it be helpful for you if I wrote them down?”

“I’ll remember,” Draco said quietly.

“All right,” Remus said, choosing not to question him. If Draco forgot he’d be there to offer corrections. “I clean their enclosures on the weekend. It’s a bit too big of a job to do during the school week. I could definitely use your help with that.”

“Can’t you just use a cleaning spell?” Draco asked.

“I can’t while the creatures are still in the enclosures. I have to transfer them to a temporary cage, clean, and then transfer them back. Some of them are more difficult to handle than others. If you continue to help me, you’ll become very comfortable handing Dark creatures.”

“I can help,” Malfoy said.

“Excellent. Let’s start with the Grindelows since you’re already familiar with them.”

Remus was impressed with Malfoy. The boy worked with efficiency, taking direction well, and he never needed to be instructed twice. Their tasks were quickly done.

Malfoy came back once more that week, on Saturday, and helped with cleaning. As the end of term approached, Malfoy started showing up on Remus’s doorstep more frequently, sometimes unannounced, and helping with everything except marking papers.

“You know,” Remus said to Malfoy as the week of midterms drew to a close, “I could use help over the holidays as well. If you wanted to stay at the castle and continue to help, I could give you some extra credit.”

Malfoy stilled. Remus could see the wheels in his student’s mind spinning as he absently overfed the Hinkypunks. Remus didn’t correct him, instead, he let Draco mull over the offer.

“I will send an owl to my parents to request their permission,” Malfoy said.

* * *

Remus’s parents had responded to his owl immediately, their enthusiasm about hosting Sirius over the holidays spilling onto the page. Sirius’s parents responded to his request succinctly, giving their permission, and so the two boys found themselves tugging their luggage off the train and waving goodbye to James and Peter through the window as the train continued on to London.

Sirius turned to Remus with a grin so big it split his face. Remus felt a tingle in his toes that rose to a fire in his legs. He wanted to throw his arms around Sirius and hang off his friend, bringing their faces close together. He refrained. Still, they were going to have an amazing Christmas.

Remus’s mom swept Sirius up into a fierce hug as soon as she saw him and wouldn’t let go until Sirius performed acrobatics to wiggle free. “It’s so good to have you, dear,” Ms. Lupin said. “Our family table is usually so small at Christmas.”

Mr. Lupin shoke Sirius’s hand firmly and then pulled him in for a hug. It wasn’t the first time Remus’s parents had met Sirius, but it was the first time he would be staying longer than a night.

That night they lay beside each other in the dark, talking long past their bedtime. Remus was in his bed and Sirius was sleeping on an air mattress on the floor right beside him. At Hogwarts, they didn’t get to be this close together whilst falling asleep, and they had to be quiet in case their dorm mates were sleeping, but at Remus’s they could talk as much as they wanted as long as they didn’t wake his parents.

There was a pause in the conversation, and Remus took the moment of companionable silence to ask a question he hadn’t yet dared to voice. “Is it really bad at home?”

“Nah, it’s not,” Sirius had said.

“You can tell me, you know, if you want.”

“I know,” Sirius said. There was a long pause, and Remus had thought that was all Sirius was going to say.

“I know I can, but when I’m not there it’s … nice to not think about it. Hogwarts is more my home and you are more my family than anything at the ‘House of Black’. It could be worse. Loads of people have it worse, I’m sure.”

Remus’s voice was hot in his throat, boiling with sadness for his friend and rage at the Black family. “They don’t love you. You deserve to be loved.”

Sirius slid his hand up onto Remus’s bed, searching blindly for his hand. When he found it, he squeezed it gently and held on. “I have you and the Marauders. What else do I need?”

Remus’s breath hitched. Sirius’s hand was callused from his broom, very warm despite the winter’s chill, and more solid than anything else in the world. Remus squeezed his hand back. He wanted to tell Sirius right then that he loved him. They had never said the words as friends, and Remus did love him, but he couldn’t tell Sirius that he loved him as a friend without confessing that he also was in love with Sirius. Instead, he said, “If you do want to talk about it at some point, I’ll be here.”

He had heard Sirius take a shaky breath before Sirius had said, “Thank you, Moony,” as gently as if he were lying a newborn baby down in a cradle. Then Sirius’s hand squeezed his one last time before retreating into the darkness.

* * *

It was wonderful to be back at Hogwarts for Christmas. Remus hadn’t enjoyed a Christmas since James and Lily had died, his parents having passed long before, and no friends to celebrate with afterwards. Christmas was usually his least favourite time of year because it was when he felt the most lonely, but it was hard to be joyless in a castle decorated with sweet pine, mistletoe, and sparkling golden ornaments. Children ran through the halls and the snowy ground, free from their classes and obligations, full of mischief and joy. Remus didn’t even dread the upcoming full moon.

He wondered briefly if he should get Draco a present, but decided it wasn’t within a teacher-student relationship. Instead, he kept feeding Malfoy books by Terry Pratchett and providing him with a refuge in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Draco completely took over the care and feeding of the creatures over the break, coming in twice a day to feed them and check if they were healthy. Remus didn’t need to supervise anymore, but he liked sharing space with his student, and they usually fed the creatures together.

He also wondered about getting Harry a Christmas present. They’d been spending more time together, and Remus found himself more compelled to tell Harry that he’d known his parents. He loved the boy like he would love a nephew, and wanted an excuse to be more present in his life, but he wasn’t sure if he would be able to answer Harry’s questions without breaking apart. What present do you get for the son of your deceased best friend who was killed at the hand of your former lover? An infant whom you had abandoned and ignored for twelve years rather than face the pain of your own loss? What gift could make up for an unforgivable trespass? Easier to ignore the shape of your broken heart and teach him how to cast a Patronus.

A few days before Christmas, he and Harry were eating chocolate in his study, taking a break from Harry’s latest attempt to repel the Bogart-Dementor when Malfoy burst into the study without knocking.

“Professor—“ he started and then spotted Harry and froze.

Harry was on his feet with his hand on his wand in an instant. “What are you doing here, Malfoy?”

“I could ask the same of you, Potter,” Malfoy sneered and spat his name.

“Harry, that’s not necessary. Mr. Malfoy, please come in,” Remus said, standing between the boys.

Malfoy shuffled farther into the room. Harry reluctantly tucked his wand in his back pocket.

“What can I help you with, Mr. Malfoy?” Remus asked.

“Nothing. I’ll just come back later,” Malfoy said glaring daggers at Harry. Harry scoffed. Remus glared at him and Harry had the decency to look a little sheepish.

“I should be available in about an hour,” Remus said to Draco, who nodded curtly and spun on his heel, leaving the study in a huff.

“Who does he think he is? Coming in here without knocking?” Harry demanded.

“He usually doesn’t need to. I am usually alone when he arrives,” Remus said.

“What?” Harry said.

“Mr. Malfoy has been helping me take care of the magical creatures we use in class,” Remus explained.

“Why is he helping you? I could help,” Harry said.

Remus smiled and resisted the impulse to pat Harry on the head. “Would you like to help?”

“I’m sure I could do a better job than he does,” Harry said.

“I will ask Draco to show you his routine. Then you can share the job when classes start again.”

Harry pouted, and Remus handed him some chocolate. “Can I trust the two of you in a room alone together?”

“I won’t start anything if he won’t,” Harry said.

“Hardly a ringing endorsement,” Remus said. He wanted to tell Harry about how Malfoy had leaped to Neville’s defence against the bean bags, but he knew that would be a betrayal of Draco’s trust.

“Give him a chance,” Remus urged. “He’s not what he shows himself to be.”“You mean a self-centred, racist prick?”

“His family has some firmly held beliefs but he’s only thirteen, just like you, and has just as much potential to grow and change.”

“That’ll be the day,” Harry said in the exact tone Lily had used when Remus had tried to talk her into seeing the good side of James during sixth year. Remus looked at Harry and wondered what emotions lay beyond the animated rivalry of the two boys. Maybe spending time together would change Harry’s mind about Draco, or maybe it wouldn’t, but he couldn’t convince Harry to see what he saw in Malfoy with words alone. James had changed before she saw the good in him. Malfoy would have to show Harry.

“Can we go again?” Harry asked, motioning to the chest with the dementor.

“I think you’ve done enough for the day. It’s more taxing than you realize. Would you like to walk the grounds? I have some time before Mr. Malfoy returns.”

Harry nodded, still putout, and Remus hoped that Draco and Harry would not be driven deeper into their rivalry over a competition for his attention.

 

Draco was already waiting when Remus returned to his study an hour later. “Do you have any more books by Terry Pratchett?” Draco asked. “I couldn’t find any in the library.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Pratchett is a Muggle author,” Remus said. He would ignore the confrontation between Malfoy and Harry unless Draco started the conversation.

“He’s a Muggle?” Draco asked, appalled.

Remus smiled. “Yes. If anything I think that helps his writing. Maybe it’s easier to create a magical world when you don’t know about the magic that already exists.”

“I can’t believe you gave me Muggle books,” Draco asked.

“You liked them,” Remus pointed out.

“No, I didn’t,” Malfoy said.

“Sure. That’s why you just asked if I had any more for you to read.”

“Whatever,” Draco said, and then, to Remus’s surprise, he laughed. Remus hadn’t heard the boy laugh before. It was light and clear and beautiful. “I suppose I can’t recommend them to my mother then.”

“You think she would like them?” Remus asked. Malfoy hadn’t talked about his parents before.

“She would. But she would never willingly read a book written by a Muggle.”

“She’s missing out. There are many excellent Muggle authors,” Remus said.

“Would it be alright—I mean—would you mind … do you have any other Muggle books you would recommend?” Draco asked.

“I have several. What are you in the mood for?”

“More fantasy? It’s funny how they don’t know that magic is real, but still write stories about it.”

“They certainly have a unique perspective. Let’s see,” Remus said, scanning his bookshelf. “People who like Terry Pratchett often enjoy Neil Gaiman. Try American Gods.”

“Thank you,” Malfoy said, tucking the book into his bag.

“Draco, how are things for you at home?” Remus asked.

Draco froze like a deer caught in headlights. “It’s fine,” he said stiffly.

“I think that it might not always be fine, and I don’t think anyone would notice that something was wrong unless they were paying attention.”

Draco was standing so still that it barely looked like he was breathing.

Remus bent so that he met Malfoy’s eyes from the same level. “I promise that I will hold everything you tell me in complete confidence. I would guess that you’re worried about word getting back to your parents, and about your life becoming more difficult because of it. I would not let that happen.”

There was another long moment of silence while Remus waited for Draco’s reaction. His student slowly thawed and started fiddling with the straps of his book bag. “Other people have it worse. I can handle it,” he finally said, still not looking at Remus.

“I don’t doubt that,” Remus said. “You also shouldn’t have to.”

Draco tore his gaze from his bag to look at Remus and fake a weak smile. “Who are we feeding today?” Draco had memorized the feeding schedule a month ago and already knew which creatures were being fed, so he was clearly asking for their conversation to end.

They fed half of the creatures in companionable silence before Malfoy asked, “What were you doing with Potter?” There was no malice in his voice, just curiosity.

Remus examined his student out of the corner of his eye, to see if there were any indications of hidden contempt or violence in Draco’s body language.

Spotting nothing, he said, “We’re working on his spell work.”

“Potter doesn’t need to practise. He’s always so, so perfect,” Draco grumbled.

“He is naturally gifted at Defence Against the Dark Arts, I will give you that, but no one is perfect and everyone needs practice.” Malfoy sniffed. “Maybe Mr. Potter thinks that you are perfect at Potions.”

He startled a second laugh out of Draco. “I’m not perfect at Potions! It’s just not as hard as Potter tries to make it.”

“He makes it harder than it needs to be?”

“He never knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t know which ingredients are which, or how to use a knife, or how to stir a cauldron, and he takes every opportunity to aggravate Professor Snape.”

“It sounds like you’ve been paying more attention to Mr. Potter than your own potions,” Remus observed.

“Only so that I know to get out of the way before it explodes,” Malfoy muttered.

Remus laughed. “I hope that doesn’t happen too often,” he said. He was always curious about how Harry was doing in his classes. Most of his fellow professors were happy to tell him, but Severus just sneered. He was also curious to know more about the reason for Malfoy’s animosity towards Harry.

“Not that often. It’s usually Seamus you have to watch out for,” said Malfoy.

Remus wanted to press farther into Draco’s thoughts on Harry, but he knew he had already pushed the boy far enough today with Muggle books and asking about his parents. His curiosity could wait for another day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a description of Remus's transformation into his wolf form, which has an element of body horror.

Remus took every opportunity to oggle Sirius over the winter holidays. This was not that unusual, as he also watched Sirius surreptitiously while they were at school, but he had Sirius all to himself and in an entirely novel context. Sirius was handsome when he was learning to wash dishes, radiant when they were decorating the house for the holidays, and stunning when they were setting the table or prepping vegetables for cooking. So much of domestic life was unchartered for Sirius, and Remus had revelled in each excuse to teach him something new. He loved to watch Sirius face slowly morph from embarrassment to curiosity to pride as he acquired a new skill, just as he loved the excuse it gave him to guide Sirius’s hand through new wand motions and stare at his lips as he practised the incantations for cleaning spells. Remus had wished it would never end.

Every night, after Sirius fell asleep, Remus lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling and resisting a fantastical dream where Sirius loved him back. In his dream, they held hands and walked along canals together through snow, and spring blossoms, the kiss of sun, and orange leaves. Sirius came home to him every day and they cooked simple food together, kissing in the kitchen with spices on their lips. No matter how many times he pushed the dream aside it came back just as strong, and he would toss under his duvet, trying to shake it loose without waking Sirius until he fell into a dreamless sleep.

As the full moon approached, his sleep was no longer dreamless. Instead, he dreamed of greeting Sirius at the door with kisses that turned feral, biting at his lips and then sinking his teeth into his neck. He would wake, biting off a scream, covered in sweat, and drenched in self-loathing. Over and over he berated himself. How could he dream of hurting his best friend? Sirius was always there, a light sleeper, and would rub Remus’s back until his breathing calmed down. Remus hated this show of affection the most. He didn’t deserve it.

The night before the full moon his dream was so violent he couldn’t control his screams of rage. In his dream he’d bitten Sirius’s neck, then dragged him to the floor by his hair, cutting through his shirt with his long and yellowed nails, and bit into Sirius’s chest. He ripped out chunks of flesh with his teeth, strings of blood falling from his lips, leaving bruises and the shape of his teeth in Sirius’s body.

Sirius was already rubbing his back and murmuring when he woke from the dream. “Shh, shhh. It’s alright Moony. It was just a dream. I’m here.”

Remus started to cry, tiny hiccups of sobs he cut off in his throat. Sirius climbed into the bed beside him, spooning Remus, wrapping his arms around him in a tight embrace.

“It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you,” Sirius said, but Remus just cried harder, hating himself for the violence of his subconscious, for the danger he put all of his friends in every month, the curse, and hating himself most of all. He should be pushing Sirius away but instead he pulled his friend closer, wrapping Sirius’s arms around himself in a tighter hug.

“Everything will feel better after tomorrow night. You can get through this,” Padfoot whispered.

Would it be alright? Remus thought and his tears kept flowing. Greyback had made him a werewolf, but he had made himself a monster. What kind of a person fantasized about tearing into their crush and sentencing them to the same prison? “I’m so sorry, Pads,” Remus sobbed.

“Shhh, shhh. There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Sirius said, petting Remus’s hair. “None of this is your fault.”

Remus couldn’t bring himself to tell Sirius about his dreams. He couldn’t bear to see disgust, horror, and fear overtake the kindness in Sirius’s eyes, and so he pushed himself back more firmly into Padfoot’s arms and fell asleep still snuffling softly.

Remus’s parents were kind and gentle with their son all of the next day. He didn’t have to do any chores, they made him his favourite food, and his mom played the piano for him for hours. As moonrise approached the tension in the house coiled tighter and tighter until Remus stood up and hugged his mom and whispered in her ear. “It’s okay, mom.”

She had sagged into him. “I just wish there was some other way.”

“I know mom. It’s okay. I don’t mind.” He held her hand as they all walked to Remus’s bedroom. Remus’s dad carried the restraints. Together, Remus, his dad, and his mom secured the restraints to each corner of the bed while Sirius watched the ritual. Remus lay down on the bed and spread into a star. Remus’s mom had kissed his cheek and he smiled at her before he closed his eyes. His parents shackled each limb to the bed frame.

Remus’s mom flicked her wand and started the cassette player. Soothing piano lullabies had filled the room and she sat on the edge of the bed.

“I love you, my sweet boy,” she said.

Remus opened his eyes, smile, and said, “I know mom. I love you too. Pads, would you stay for a second?”

“Of course,” Sirius said, approaching the bed. Remus’s parents left and quietly closed the door behind him.

“You don’t have to stay with me. I will be alright by myself,” Remus said.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I’m staying,” Sirius said.

Remus smiled weakly up at him from his chains. “Okay, but you have to go now, or my parents will be concerned. Make sure you lock the door behind you.”

“I’ll be back,” Sirius promised.

Remus lay on the bed, eyes closed, listening to the piano music and meditating. He felt the change begin to take hold of him as the cassette neared its end. He heard the whirring noise of the tape magically rewinding and then his body broke open. With a jolt that lifted him off the bed, his back snapped and he screamed, high and human and in agony. His back burned like he’d rolled over a dozen fire ant colonies and their armies swarmed over his spine. He screamed again, feeling his shoulder blades dislocate and rotate in their sockets, grinding sinew over bone, tendons popping free and flopping loose. Then the fire turned to ice and he was numb everywhere below the neck. His breath came fast and ragged, but he was always grateful for this small reprieve. He watched his body jerk and snap as it rearranged into his werewolf form, but felt nothing until his nose cracked and jaw snapped. He whimpered, unable to force a louder scream through his broken lips, and his snout grew. His mind fell into the mind of a beast and feeling returned to his body. He gnashed his teeth and thrashed against his bonds, but the magic in them held strong. He howled, a mourning cry out to his lost siblings of the moon, yearning to run, to hunt, to tear and rend flesh from bone. He wanted freedom. He wanted the Hunt. Then the cassette clicked and the familiar lullaby made its way through the wolf’s brain into Remus’s mind.

He breathed and remembered he was human, most of the time, and that this would end. The cassette played twice before he heard stocking feet cross the house, then the click of the lock on the door. He knew immediately that it was Sirius. He smelled like cigarette smoke and sugar, a starry night, a little bit like a dog, and the idea of sex. The combination made the wolf growl from deep in his belly. The wolf could see perfectly in the dark and watched as Sirius slipped into the room. The growl grew to a deep rumble in his chest. He wanted this human. He wanted to taste and sink his claws into the weak body and devour. Then Sirius transformed and the scent in the air changed. The dog smell was stronger and Sirius’s smell faded, though it was still present.

The wolf relaxed. He knew this smell. This dog was pack and he did not eat pack. Remus remembered that he was human and that this night would be over soon enough. Padfoot jumped onto the bed and curled up on the wolf’s chest. The weight of him was comfortable and the wolf yipped in happy greeting. Padfoot huffed back at him, and the two settled down for a quiet evening.

As the moon began to set, Remus and the wolf fell asleep, and Remus woke up in human form feeling sore all over and Padfoot gone.

“Good morning, Remus,” his mom said, peeking her head in the door. “How are you feeling? You hungry?”

“M’not,” Remus said. His voice hurt, it was too bright, and every muscle in his body felt like stretched taffy.

“Let’s have you take a bath before breakfast,” Remus’s mom said. She unlocked each of the shackles with a tap of her wand. She hugged him and leveraged him into a sitting position.

“I can do it, mom,” Remus said.

“I know you can, sweeting, but I like to help.” She swung each of his legs into a wheelchair and then lifted him under the shoulders into the seat. She waved her wand at the cassette player and stopped the music as she wheeled him out of the bedroom and into the bathroom.

The bath was already full of steaming water and the smell of lilacs filled the air. Remus’s mom carefully transferred him into the tub and handed him a piece of chocolate, which he started sucking on immediately.

“Thanks, mom,” he said.

She kissed him on the forehead. “Call me if you would like help getting out.”

Remus closed his eyes and sank into the bath up to his chin, letting the charmed water wash away the soreness and pain from his muscles. He was wrinkled, relaxed, and starting to feel a little hungry when he heard the front door open and heard Padfoot’s excited voice ask, “Where’s Remus?”

“He’s in the bath. He should be done soon,” his mom said.

“That’s alright. I’ll go to him,” Sirius said.

There was a hesitation and Remus imagined his mother’s face in indecision.

“I know he’s in the bath. We’ve shared a room for five years. He won’t mind.”

“If you’re sure …” Remus’s mom said, but Padfoot was already opening the door.

“You alright, Moony?” Sirius said.

“Yeah, Pads. You?”

“I’m alright. Look! Your dad took me to a Muggle library, and I got you some books. Have you heard of this Terry Pratchett guy?” Sirius said, waving one of the books in the air too fast for Remus to actually see the cover.

“No,” said Remus.

“He seems like a riot. You want me to read to you?”

“I would like that,” Remus said, forgetting his hunger and marvelling at the way enthusiasm transformed Sirius’s face. He settled back into the bath. He charmed the water to stay warm twice, revelling in the chance to study Padfoot’s animated face while he read,  before his hunger overtook him and they stopped for lunch.

Sirius and Remus migrated to their bedroom—his parents had taken away the restraints while he was in the bath—and they spent the afternoon in bed eating chocolate and reading to each other until Remus fell asleep listening to Padfoot’s voice.

* * *

Remus knew the full moon was getting close because his nightmares were getting worse. His dreams about attacking Sirius had faded over the years, now, he dreamed that the wolf found the carcasses of his dead friends—James, Lily, and Peter—and ripped their limbs from their bodies, scattering their corpses around the Forbidden Forest. He would have preferred dreams about maiming Sirius if he had a choice. The bastard deserved to suffer in Remus’s sleeping mind after betraying James and Lily, orphaning their son, and murdering Peter. But instead, he dreamed about defiling the bodies of his long-lost friends and woke every night nauseous and in a cold sweat.  

The full moon fell on Boxing Day and he spent the day attempting to recreate the soothing ritual of his childhood. It wasn’t the same without his parents or the Marauders. It hadn’t been the same for the last twelve years.

It was slightly better at Hogwarts. Severus brought him Wolfbane potion an hour before moonrise, which he chugged as quickly as possible to avoid the wretched taste and to spend as little time as possible with Snape. Then he would pack a bag with a book and his cassette tape of piano lullabies, and walk down to the Shrieking Shack.

The Whomping Willow knew him and stilled its branches so he could shimmy into the tunnel hidden between the roots—a much tighter fit as an adult than it had been as a gangly teen—and crawl through the dirt tunnel until he reached the Shack that was his prison and refuge. He locked his wand in a safe, put on the cassette tape, and re-read A Hat Full of Sky while he waited for the moon to rise. He could still hear Sirius’s voice after all these years.

The transformation was torture, though dulled slightly by the Wolfsbane, and he tore apart the Shack. Sinking his claws and teeth into furniture and furnishings until he fell into an exhausted sleep and woke up sore and miserable. He dragged himself back to the Infirmary Wing and allowed Madame Pomfrey to prod at him and dress his wounds. Then he slumped to his chambers, locked the door, and drew all the curtains closed, casting his room into gloom.

When his head hit the pillow he cried for the first time in almost three years. He missed Sirius and he hated himself for missing Sirius. For a moment, a long moment, everything had been good. Even the stress of the war couldn’t tarnish the joy he felt living with Padfoot, playing Exploding Snap with Peter over Butterbeers, watching James and Lily be infatuated with each other, their wedding and Harry’s first steps, and his first word. There was a war, but there had been small, definitive victories, and he’d had his chosen family. Then Sirius had taken it all away and he was left with nothing but love for a man that he no longer wanted to love.

There was a knock on his door. He wiped his tears, threw his tattered bathrobe over his tattered pyjamas, and plastered a smile on his face. To his surprise, it was Harry on the other side.

“Oh, Harry. I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting you. I’m feeling a little under the weather.”

He watched Harry take in his red eyes and sunken cheeks. “Have you been to Madame Pomfrey? Maybe she could give you something to help.”

“I did. She assured me I would be feeling fine in a day or two. Was there something I could help you with?”

“No, nothing that can’t wait. Do you need anything?” Harry asked.

“Thank you, Harry, but I’ll be fine. If you see Mr. Malfoy, could you tell him that I won’t be helping him with the animals today? Only if you see him, mind. There’s no need to go looking for trouble.” Remus tried to smile, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“Alright. I’ll see you later,” Harry said, and then jumped into Remus and hugged him fiercely around the middle.

Remus got the wind knocked out of him, and his ribs were sore where Harry squeezed him, but he didn’t complain. He just wrapped his arms around Harry’s shoulders and hugged him back for as long as he could before Harry broke the hug and ran away.

Remus went back to bed, slightly less miserable than before, and when there was a knock on his door a few hours later, he opened it to find only a box of chocolates wrapped in Gryffindor gold and scarlet.

He was back on his feet the next day and helping Malfoy with the morning feeding.

“Are you alright, Professor?” Draco asked.

“I’m fine. Just recovering from a head cold.” Remus was pleased with this small sign of care. Malfoy gave off an air that he didn’t care about anyone other than himself, and it was nice to know that it was part of his facade.

“I’ve been reading the Dark Arts Philosophy Book you gave me,” Draco said.

“What do you think of it?” Remus asked.

“I’m not sure,” Draco said. “It’s hard to imagine the Dark Arts actually being used to benefit people. I’m not sure I agree with everything the Emmeline Binns writes.”“Any points in particular?” Remus asked.

“More like, everything that she says can’t be true at the same time. She starts out by saying that the only virtuous thing is pleasure, and the only evil thing is pain, but she also says that there is no objective meaning to human experience, and talks about the Golden Rule. I don’t get it; If there’s no objective way to measure our experiences, is there actually such a thing as pain or pleasure? And then, why should it matter if we treat others how we wish to be treated? Everyone at school says that the Dark Arts are bad, but I know there are people in the world who practise Dark Magic and they aren’t bad people, they’re just people. I just started the chapter where she’s talking about some guy called Machiavelli—I’d never heard of him before—and how the end justifies the means. So you could use the Dark Arts, or even the Unforgivable Curses to torture someone or force them to do something, that would ultimately save a lot more people from suffering from just the one person you’ve hurt. And she says that’s okay. But that contradicts what she said earlier about pain being the only true evil, and the Law of Attraction. I don’t know. I’m confused.”

Remus listened to Draco ramble patiently. He noticed that Draco carefully avoided naming anyone who practiced the Dark Arts, and specified that people at Hogwarts were the ones who admonished Dark magic. When Draco finished his explanation, Remus said, “These are very good questions. It’s a philosophy book. So there aren’t really right answers. The author provides you with ideas and thought experiments. You’re supposed to think about what you believe and why you believe it, question what you thought was true, and refine your thinking. It’s a challenging task.”

“What do you believe?”

“I’m still figuring it out,” Remus answered honestly. “There are good people who use the Dark Arts for the greater good, and there are people who use regular magic to do hurtful things. I still don’t know what’s Right, or even if there is a Right, but I try to be compassionate and honest every day, and I hope that counts for something. Do you know what you believe?”

“I have no idea,” Draco said, staring at his hands.

“That’s a good place to start,” Remus said.

“What?” Draco said, taken aback.

“It’s important to know what you don’t know. For learning, there isn’t a better place to start.”

“You’re weird,” said Draco, but he smiled when he said it.

“So I’ve been told,” said Remus, smiling back at his student. There was hope for Draco yet. His student was surrounded by negative influences and many people who were filled with hate, but if Remus could teach him to question his own thoughts, Draco could learn compassion on his own.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has descriptions of child abuse.

The Christmas holidays were going too quickly. Remus only had a few more days with Sirius before they had to go back to school.

“I’m really glad you decided to come spend the hols with me,” Remus said. It was after dinner and they were walking through the snow. The white snowflakes bright and starry against the black of the sky. It was easier for Remus to say what he felt because since they were moving and they didn’t have to look at each other.

“I’m glad too,” Sirius said. “This was so much better than Christmas at home listening to my parents pretend not to fight.”

“Do they fight a lot?”

“All the time. My mother is always yelling at someone: my dad, the house elves, her mom, my brother, me. Nothing makes her happy.”

“That sounds hard,” says Remus, attempting to keep his voice neutral.

Sirius shrugged his left shoulder. “At Christmas she pretends to be nice, but she really just switches from being aggressive to passive-aggressive. I’m never as good as my brother. I’m a disgrace to the family name. If she knew how I was going to turn out, she wouldn’t have had me at all.” Sirius kicked a clump of snow and it exploded softly. His face was drawn and pinched, like the idea of home starved him.

“That’s her when she’s trying to be nice?” Remus asked, appalled.

“Yeah. Normally she … I’m sorry. You don’t want to hear about this,” Sirius said.

Remus placed his hand on Sirius’s upper arm, stopping them from walking. Sirius looked into his eyes. “I want to hear about it if you want to tell me.”

Sirius squeezed his eyes shut. “Usually she beats me with a switch and makes me count. Or she’ll use the Cruciatus Curse on one of the house elves until I promise to live up to the family name, and then beat me for caring about house elves. And when there’s company over she locks me in my room and pretends that Reggie is her only son.”

“Merlin! That’s horrible. Pads, that’s _so_ horrible,” Remus said.

“I know. You think I don’t know? Moony, I want to leave so badly. I want to leave and never go back, but I don’t know where I’d go and I can’t leave Regulus there. He’s only thirteen. And my mom dotes on him, but that’s hardly any better.”

“You can stay with us, or with James, or with Peter. I swear, we will all take you in. You never have to go back to that awful house again,” Remus said. “I swear my life on it.”

“But what about Reggie?” Sirius whispered.

“If he wants out, he can stay with us too. He shouldn’t have to be there either, but Sirius, you need to get out. I knew it was bad, but that’s … thank you for telling me.” He swept Sirius into a hug, squishing his friend as close as he could through the layers of winter clothing. The snow danced around them. “Please let me help you.”

Sirius made snuffling noises and held on to Remus. It took Remus a moment to realize Padfoot was crying because he’d never heard Sirius cry before. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” he said, stroking Sirius’s hair. “I’ve got you. You can get through this. _I love you_.”

* * *

Two days before the winter term started, and one day before the rest of the students arrived, Malfoy knocked on the door to Remus’s study and entered without waiting for a response.

Remus was so deep in a book he hadn’t noticed that the sun had set and his candles had burned down to the last bit of wick. He didn’t notice his student’s arrival until Malfoy got close and cleared his throat. Remus started. “I didn’t hear you come in! It’s a better book than I realized,” he said, tucking his bookmark between the pages and setting the book aside to peer through the dark at his student. “How are you today, Draco?”

“I’m alright. I was wondering … if you don’t mind, that is, if I ask you a question?”

“Go right ahead,” Remus said, leaning forward on the couch and lighting more candles with a quick flick of his wand so he could see Draco’s face.

Malfoy shifted uncomfortably. Remus had never seen him squirm like this before. Usually, his signs of internal conflict were limited to fidgeting with his book bag and small twitches that you would only notice if you were paying attention.

“The book you gave me, the one on philosophy? It talks a lot about pain, about causing pain, I mean. I was wondering, do you know if, I mean, is it normal for parents to hurt their children?”

“No, Draco, it’s not normal,” Remus said, tenderly.

Draco sigh sounded like the start of a sob. “Because my father … my father hurts me.”

“He hurts you?” Remus said.

“He— do I have to tell you?” Draco asked, looking at the floor

“No, of course not, but it’s usually good to tell someone.”

“My father uses the Cruciatus Curse on me.”

“He hurts you?” Remus said again, his voice still soft and tender. He didn’t want to interrupt Draco, just prompt him to keep talking. He was saving his own emotional reaction for later.

Draco nodded. “When the Mudbl—when Granger gets better grades than me, or Slytherin loses a Quidditch match, or when I embarrass him in front of guests. Sometimes he uses my wand to crucio my mother if he thinks we deserve it, or he’ll cast Imperio on my mother and make her crucio me. He only does that to punish her. The fact that it hurts me is just a bonus. I- I- I hate him.” Malfoy started sobbing, his cries hiccuping through his body until he was shaking from head to toe.

“I want him to _die_. I want to never have to see him again. I want him to go too far one day and just fucking kill me so that I’m free. He says it’s for my own good. That he’s making me stronger. That I’ll thank him when I’m older. But I just want him to _stop_. Professor, I would do _anything_ to make him stop. As soon as I go home he takes my wand and locks it away, which he says is so that I am not tempted to do underage magic, but I think he likes it when I can’t fight back. And he knows everyone, _everyone_ at the Ministry. He knows all the Aurors and politicians and they would never believe me. I’m trapped. I’m trapped and there’s no way out.”

Draco collapsed on the floor, books spilling out of his bag. He curled in on himself, hugging his legs to his chest and burying his face in his knees. He cried so hard, sobs cracking through his ribs and throat, that Remus worried he was going to strain something. Draco ignored Remus’s outstretched hand and the silent offer of physical comfort, so Remus sat on the floor beside him with a significant gap between their frames. He wanted Draco to know he was there without feeling threatened, and he watched his student cry with his own heart breaking at the boy’s pain.

Eventually, Draco’s tears hiccuped to a stop, and he looked up at Remus, his pale skin ruddy and streaks of tears and snot covering his face. “I don’t know what to do.”

Remus didn’t know what to do either. The Malfoys were powerful and Lucius’s influence reached far, but he wouldn’t tell Draco that it was hopeless. “We’re going to figure out how to keep you safe,” he promised. “You shouldn’t have to live like that. What’s he’s doing to you and your mother is wrong. I’m going to do everything I can to get you out of there. I promise. You never have to go home again.”

In his words he heard the echo of the promise he’d given to Sirius. The Marauders had rescued Padfoot from Grimmauld Place, and given him a home, and love and family. Yet despite all of that, Sirius had killed them all, even Remus in a way.

Draco fell into Remus’s arms, his blonde hair in disarray as he sobbed into Remus’s vest. Remus rubbed circles on his back, the motion the same as when Sirius comforted Remus after his nightmares. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You can get through this.”

He was holding Draco on the floor of his study and he was also holding Sirius in the snow outside his childhood home. Eighteen years since he’d made the same promise to Sirius, twelve years since he’d failed to keep it. He felt the urgency of that promise as strongly at thirty three as he had at fifteen, but he had learned in the two decades since. This time, this time, he would manage to actually keep that promise. He would save Draco Malfoy from the Dark.


End file.
